She was standing there, looking at him again. Hands on her hips, little ball fists, jammed into the flesh just below her hipbones. Sockets. Whatever. He wasn’t going to think about her hips just now, the ball fists turning the flesh white as she stood there looking at him.
Look at you, lying there in that bed like some bloody Camille. (He wasn’t listening.)
You are such a beta male, you know that? (He wasn’t listening; made no move.)
You and your softness, your delicateness, your pretentious writing, your words, your ten dollar words! Fuck! Your effeteness! (Where did she learn that word? he wondered as he continued to not listen.)
Soon there were footsteps and a slamming door. (He heard that.)